


i'll see you with your laughter lines

by the_one_that_fell



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Character Death, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 20:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9784421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: Eric Bittle was fourteen when his soulmate died.They'd never even gotten to meet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> TW: a lot of talk about death, graphic description of death of minor (unknown) character, canon-typical alcohol use, discussion of jack's overdose, minor homophobia

Eric Bittle was fourteen when his soulmate died.  
  
They'd never even gotten to meet.  
  
That didn’t stop him from mourning — the loss of a soulmate, the loss of a future, the loss of someone who would’ve meant something to Eric. He’d cried for days after the name on his wrist disappeared, curled under his covers with Señor Bun clutched tight to his chest. Mama stayed with him, plying him with water and soup and tissues, like he just had a bad cold or something, like his heart hadn’t been ripped from his chest.  
  
Coach didn’t say much, mostly just left him and Mama alone, but Eric knew his father was probably relieved — no one wanted their son’s soulmate to be another boy, especially not in this town. Now Eric was just another tragic story, arm blank because his other half had been taken too soon.  
  
He left his armband on for a few more months, didn't mention it to anyone but family, but that didn’t stop the gossip from spreading through the school like wildfire. The football team still hated him, the bullies still knocked him around, but the rest of his classmates just looked at him sadly, eyes flitting to the black cloth wrapped loosely around his bony wrist.  
  
Eric tried not to be sad — now he didn't have to hide his wrist, he hadn't even known Jack, he could just concentrate on school and baking and the future — but it chipped away at his heart. He smiled less, talked less, ate less, sang less, but the world kept on turning and life went on. Eventually, Eric knew, his heart wouldn't hurt so much. Eventually things would get better.  
  
But eventually was starting to feel a lot like never and Eric wondered if he'd ever move on.  
  
_For Christ's sake_ , his dad said at dinner one night almost six months after that day.  _You never even met the guy._  
  
So Eric learned to smile brighter, talk more, bake lots of Coach's favorite treats, dance to Beyoncé when he wanted to cry to Adele. He wasn't moving on, but no one needed to know that. Eric Bittle became very good at pretending to be okay and the rest of the town eventually forgot he'd ever had a soulmate at all.  
  
Then he got his acceptance letter to Samwell and everything began to change.

* * *

  
  
Sometimes he thought about getting a tattoo where Jack’s name had been. Tattoo artists generally had policies against doing names on arms — there was too much risk of unwittingly becoming accessory to soulmate fraud — but Eric knew of places where all it took was a little extra cash under the table.  
  
Some days he wanted to get Jack put back in place, just to pretend he still had someone out there for him. Some days he thought about getting Sarah or Katie or some other innocuous, feminine name, just to survive high school, to be the son he was supposed to be.  
  
A week before he left for Samwell, Eric took his savings from working at summer camp and mowing lawns and babysitting and drove to Athens while his Mama was at her book club and Coach was at a pre-season practice with his boys.  
  
(Eric called them the ‘replacement sons’ in his head when he was feeling especially bitter. Now was one of those times.)  
  
The tattoo artist — a really cool-looking woman with a shaved head and a septum piercing that would drive Eric’s mama crazy — gave him a funny look when he told her where he wanted his tattoo.  
  
“Kid, this isn’t that kind of place-”  
  
“I don’t want a name,” Eric said, and this was the first time he’d admitted it out loud, to himself. “He died. I want to commemorate that.”  
  
The woman — Tasha — looked pitying but not quite convinced. “So what do you want there?”  
  
“Six-twenty-six-oh-nine. The day his name disappeared.”  
  
With a sigh — half pitying, half resignation — Tasha pulled out sheets of font types for him to choose from. He chose a simple, thin sans-serif, at a size so small that it looked more like a serial number than the grand gesture Eric had planned. It was less noticeable than a name, but still a scrawl of black on his skin, something familiar and almost normal. He nodded at Tasha's stencil, anxiety bundling in his stomach as she began wiping down his wrist.  
  
It hurt more than Eric had expected — his cousins had always bragged about how they hadn't even felt anything when they got ornate crosses and bible verses tatted on their rib cages and lower backs — but compared to the ache in his chest he'd been carrying around for four years, it was nothing more than a minor irritation. He closed his eyes and thought of Samwell, how it was "1 in 4, maybe more," how he could be himself and it wouldn't even matter. Jack wouldn't be there.  
  
Bitty tried to find Jack’s obituary once. A lot of Jacks died in 2009, and more than one died on June 26th. Most had been old, and a sad part of Bitty hoped that maybe he'd been destined to fall in love with a senior citizen. The idea of some teenager out there dying hurt his heart so much more.  
  
Sometimes Eric wondered if Jack would've attended Samwell, if that's where they had been destined to meet. Up until high school, he'd always assumed Jack would be a good ol' southern boy, probably in the closet too, and they'd move to Atlanta or Athens and live together quietly for the rest of their lives. Before Jack died, he couldn't have imagined leaving Georgia, leaving his family. But then Jack died and Bitty was locked in one too many utility closets and they moved back to Madison and he'd been forced to give up figure skating and he'd picked up hockey and instead of friends he had teammates who tolerated him and strangers on the internet who liked to watch him bake and-  
  
One morning he woke up and realized that there was nothing keeping him Georgia, not even his mama. Maybe he was going to spend his life alone, but that didn't mean he had to spend it being miserable.  
  
So here Eric was, getting a secret tattoo and heading off to the gayest school in the country, far away from everything he'd ever known. He felt rebellious, in a sad way. He hoped it was the tattoo that would scandalize his mother, and not the gay... _thing_.  
  
"Alright, kid," Tasha said, wiping at his arm. "Take a look at it before I wrap it up."  
  
Eric marveled at how small and precise and straight the lines of the numbers were, how simple it looked. To anyone else it was just a series of numbers, just another day, gone and forgotten. He smiled, small and soft.  
  
"It's perfect," he whispered. "Thank you."  
  
Tasha gave him a knowing look and patted him on the back before grabbing the supplies to wrap up his wrist. Perhaps this was closure, of a sorts, he thought as she worked. Perhaps this was the beginning of a new chapter.  
  
 

* * *

  
  
The thing about closure, Eric thought — no, not Eric, the hockey team had started calling him Bitty — was that true closure was very rare. This kind of heartache was like a giant gash in his chest, and maybe the tattoo and the new school and moving on with his life had stitched it up some, but it was still there, waiting to be reopened.    
  
When Bitty’s new captain was introduced as Jack, Bitty felt his heart clench. It wasn't like Jack wasn't a common name — he'd met dozens of Jacks in his life, both before and after — but he was tall and handsome and had piercing blue eyes and, well- Bitty had a type, okay? He'd imagined his own Jack more than once, hidden under the covers of his childhood bed, and Jack Zimmermann was pretty dang close.  
  
Except for the part where he hated Bitty.  
  
Bitty didn't hold grudges, not really. He found it hard to hate people; hate was such an aggressive emotion. Bitty lived passively. People made him mad or sad or downright miserable but never did he actively hate someone. It just wasn't in his nature.  
  
Jack, though — Bitty could make an exception for Jack Zimmermann. Maybe it was all the pent-up anger he harbored towards his own Jack — _how could he just leave Bitty all alone?_ — but he found himself nearly snapping back at Jack every time Jack chewed him out in practice.  
  
“I have never wanted to strangle someone before,” he found himself ranting to Shitty. “But I want to wring that pretty, little neck of his! What is his problem?”  
  
Shitty, to his credit, was a very patient and diplomatic listener, especially stoned. “Brah,” Shitty said, clapping Bitty on the shoulder. “You sound so southern right now.”  
  
"Not helping," Bitty muttered. "Why does he hate me so much? What did I do?"  
  
Shitty shrugged, grimacing a little. "Jack's kind of terrible to be around during pre-season. Gets real stressed out. If it's getting too bad you should talk to the coaches, but I promise it's not personal — Jack's a hockey robot, he gets into these modes. He doesn't hate you."  
  
"Well, I hate him," Bitty said, a little petulant. He grimaced and sank down onto the bench next to Shitty. "Gosh, that was mean, I shouldn't've said that. But no one has ever made me so angry before!" He sighed, kicking listlessly at the gravel under his feet. "I'm trying as hard as I can to be a better player."  
  
Shitty gave him a sad, knowing smile. "You are, dude. You work just as hard as the rest of us, maybe even harder. Jack's kind of an asshole, but he mostly means well. He cares about this team."  
  
Bitty huffed. He knew Shitty and Jack were friends but he hadn't come to Shitty to listen to him defend Jack. "No, he cares about winning."  
  
"Bits." Shitty leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees. "Jack has absolutely no right to treat you the way he has, but you gotta understand that hockey is really important to Jack. When the team isn't its best, Jack blames himself. When the team loses, Jack blames himself."  
  
"Hockey's important to me, too!" Bitty protested. "I wouldn't be on the team if it wasn't. I just don't understand why he takes it all out on me."  
  
Shitty looked almost amused. Bitty wondered if Ransom and Holster would be more sympathetic listeners. "You really haven't heard about the Zimmermann family, have you?"  
  
Bitty rolled his eyes. "Well, I have now." So Jack's dad was famous — big deal. Bitty knew that was probably a lot to live up to but he wasn't sure why that meant everyone gave Jack free reign to be a dick. It's not like Jack was playing in the NHL or anything.  
  
"Look, Bits." Shitty stood, stretching out his back. "I promise Jack will get better after pre-season. But I'll talk to him, okay? I think he's probably scaring all the frogs when he yells at you - I'm surprised the coaches haven't told him to tone it down."  
  
Bitty scoffed. "Yeah, god forbid someone tell Jack Zimmermann what to do."  
  
Shitty looked amused again. "I think this is the meanest I've ever seen you, Bitty. It's kind of like watching a corgi bark at the mailman."  
  
"Hmph." Bitty glared at him but stood as well. "That was rude."  
  
Shitty slung an arm around Bitty's shoulders and grinned. "C'mon, bro, let's go see if Johnson wants to play Mario Kart or something. He's, like, crazy good at Rainbow Road."  
  
Bitty felt a little better, getting all that anger off his chest. And Shitty was clearly good friends with Jack — if he couldn't get Jack to back off, then no one could.

* * *

  
  
It turned out that not even Shitty could get Jack to stop being such an asshole. If anything, whatever Shitty had said made Jack hate Bitty even more. (And Bitty didn't believe Shitty for a moment — Jack Zimmermann absolutely hated his guts, no doubt about it.)  
  
And were it anyone else, Bitty probably would've let it go. People had blindly hated him as long as he could remember — his figure skating competitors, the football team, the church ladies who never sold quite as much as him at the annual bake sale — but there was something about Jack's distaste for him that made Bitty want to punch him. So, really, it was inevitable that Bitty would snap.  
  
Shitty had been right in that Jack had loosened up a little once the season started. He had been almost pleasant to Bitty before their Yale game, even offering him a fist bump. Bitty had thought maybe this was the beginning of — maybe not a friendship, but mutual respect?  
  
Then Bitty scored the winning goal and Jack told him it was a lucky shot and of _course_ Jack couldn't go a whole day without saying something rude to Bitty. Of course. That would just be asking too much of the resident hockey robot.  
  
By the time Bitty saw his mother off to her hotel, the kegster was already in full swing. Someone — Ollie, Bitty thought. No, Wicks — shoved a drink into his hand the minute he entered the Haus, and at least five different teammates slapped his ass as he wandered into the living room. Then he was being hoisted into the air on Ransom's and Holster's shoulders, and everyone was screaming and cheering.  
  
Bitty felt himself flush — it had been a lucky shot, they shouldn't be celebrating this, it was stupid — but let them prop him up over the keg all the same. Everyone cheered when he tapped out, and then started screaming again as Holster attempted to do a handstand on the coffee table. Bitty laughed and cheered with the crowd, feeling warm as the alcohol started seeping through his veins.  
  
For once, Bitty didn't feel like dancing, so he pressed himself back against the wall near the door and watched as Ollie and Wicks challenged Ransom and Holster to a game of chicken. People began moving the keg and the coffee table and the nasty, green couch, chanting and clapping as the boys started to wrestle. It was ridiculous and stupidly masculine, but Bitty laughed all the same, cheering for Ransom and Holster. He could hear Shitty's voice drifting down the stairs, and Bitty moved into the hallway to see if he wanted to pull a group together for a game of Kings in the kitchen or something.  
  
"-being kind of an asshat, dude," Shitty said. "Can't you just be happy we won?"  
  
"-my dad-" Bitty heard another voice and paused, recognizing the timbre almost immediately. "-winning shot-"  
  
Ah. There it was again. Was Jack pouting upstairs about Bitty's goal? Seriously? Bitty clenched his fist, accidentally crushing the cup in his hand and spilling beer onto the floor. Oh, well. These floors had seen worse.  
  
"-I don't want to say 'get over it,' but brah-"  
  
"-leave me alone, Shits."  
  
Bitty didn't have time to hide when both boys appeared on the stairs, but at this point he wasn't really sure he wanted to hide. He was feeling loose and bold from the beer and God did he have a bone to pick with Jack Zimmermann.  
  
"Bits!" Shitty cried, waving. "Brah, c'mere!" He pulled Bitty into a giant hug, smacking a kiss against his head. "Beautiful goal, my friend. I'm so proud."  
  
"You probably shouldn't be." Bitty pulled back, casting a glance at Jack. "It was a lucky shot, wasn't it, Jack?"  
  
Jack, to his credit, paled a little. Without waiting for a response, Bitty stormed from the Haus, tossing his ruined cup to the side. He heard Shitty saying something to Jack, muffled by the music, and then Jack shouting, "Bittle, wait!"  
  
Bitty turned, arms crossed. They were the only ones in the yard, though he could hear people coming down the street. The night was chilly and Bitty shivered, wishing he'd built up more of alcohol blanket before throwing his tantrum. " _What_ , Jack?"  
  
"What was that about?" Jack asked and Bitty saw red. Maybe it was the pent up anger of being treated like a second-rate athlete. Maybe it was the years he'd spent being bullied and forcefully kept in the closet. Maybe it was that he was just so fucking mad that Jack — _his_ Jack —  had left him alone and now Jack — the asshole in front of him — was a constant reminder of what could've been. Whatever it was, Bitty's passive, southern sensibilities flew out the window.  
  
"Are you serious?" Bitty laughed humorously, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "You hate me, Jack, I know. But you don't have to be so rude all the _goddamn_ time. Do you want me to quit the team? Is that it? Because I'm not going to, I need the scholarship, so you're just going to have to deal."  
  
Jack looked taken aback. "I don't want-"  
  
"Don't lie!" Bitty threw his hands in the air, feeling more unhinged than he ever had before. "You've made your opinion of me obvious, but you're not gonna scare me off."  
  
"I wouldn't help you with checking practice if I wanted you off the team!" Jack shouted. "I don't hate you!"  
  
"Could've fooled me," Bitty hissed.  
  
"I dont-! Shit." Jack ran a hand through his hair, looking more frustrated than Bitty had ever seen him before. "I don't hate you," he said again, voice soft. "I'm sorry."  
  
Bitty scowled. "You don't hate me?"  
  
"I couldn't-" Jack took a deep breath and looked up, meeting Bitty's eyes. "No. I don't. I'm sorry for..."  
  
"Being an asshole?" Bitty asked. Jack laughed a little.  
  
"Yeah. Sorry."  
  
Bitty felt some of his anger dissipate. "Okay, I'll forgive you. If-" And here he smiled a little, walking closer to Jack. "If you steal me one of Ransom's good beers."  
  
Jack laughed. "How about we compromise and I give you one of _my_ good beers?"  
  
They walked back into the Haus together, towards the stairs. "I thought you didn't drink," Bitty said as they climbed up to the second floor.  
  
"I don't drink the shit the boys buy for parties," Jack corrected. "And I don't drink a lot."  
  
"Why not?" Bitty asked, then backtracked when Jack froze. "I mean, I'm sorry, that's probably personal, you don't have to answer-"  
  
Jack shrugged. "I'm just surprised you're asking. You really don't know anything about the NHL, do you?"  
  
Bitty shook his head. "Why do people keep asking me things like that? I took up hockey because I couldn't figure skate anymore. I've watched maybe three pro games in my life."  
  
Jack's eyes bugged a little, as if he couldn't even comprehend the words coming out of Bitty's mouth. They pushed open the door to Jack's room, which was startling clean and bare. (Though, Bitty supposed, that shouldn't've have been all that surprising.)  
  
"I overdosed on anxiety meds when I was your age," Jack said, softly. "I flat-lined. My heart stopped, just for a minute, but I was dead and it could’ve stayed that way and I-” He took a slow breath and leaned his head back. Bitty watched the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “I was so stupid. I lost so much but it could’ve been everything." Before Bitty could ask, he added, "Was in rehab for a while. So, yeah, I don't really go on benders anymore."  
  
"Oh." Bitty felt his face turn bright red. "Oh, gosh, Jack, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried-"  
  
Jack reached under his bed where a small fridge was tucked. From it he pulled two IPAs, handing one to Bitty. "Bittle, seriously, it's fine. It's not like it was a secret."  
  
And- _oh_. Everything was clicking into place. Why everyone used Jack's NHL parentage as an excuse for his behavior, why Jack pushed himself and the team so hard, why he _wasn't_ in the NHL, why everyone seemed to know some big secret about Jack that Bitty didn't.  
  
"So it- you're Canadian famous, aren't you?" Bitty asked, accepting the bottle opener Jack offered. He popped the top off his beer and took a swig. It was good, so much better than the watery crap in the keg. "That must've- that must be hard."  
  
"Yeah." Jack took a drink of his own beer and sat down on the bed. Bitty took the desk chair, tentative, unsure if Jack actually wanted him to stay or not. "You could say that."  
  
"Thank you for telling me," Bitty said after a moment. "About rehab. That can't be easy to talk about."  
  
Jack smiled at him. "It's weird, having to actually tell someone on the team. I came to Samwell and everyone just knew."  
  
Bitty grimaced. "That...sucks."  
  
Jack laughed — loudly and genuinely — and took another swig of his drink. "Yeah, a bit."  
  
"Speaking of sucking," Bitty said, grinning wickedly. "I'm not keeping you from your puck bunnies, am I?"  
  
Jack laughed again. "I don't know why Ransom and Holster think I have, like, a harem of puck bunnies at my beck and call. I'm pretty sure Shitty started that rumor to fuck with me."  
  
Bitty chuckled into his beer, relaxing against the back of the chair. "Okay, but, I'm so curious — have you hooked up with a puck bunny? Or are these rumors completely unfounded?"  
  
Bitty had not anticipated Jack's face to flush, nor did he expect Jack to say, "Once."  
  
"Oh, my gosh!" Bitty laughed again. "And let me guess, Shitty found out and has never let you forget it?"  
  
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "That is...surprisingly accurate, Bittle."  
  
"Bits! Jack!" Ransom popped into the room, wearing a tie around his head that Bitty was almost certain didn't belong to him. "The lacrosse team is kicking our asses at pong, we need reinforcements."  
  
Ransom disappeared down the stairs and Bitty stood to follow. He turned and asked, "Aren't you coming?"  
  
Jack shook his head and motioned to his beer. "This is it for me tonight," he said. "You go, Bittle. You're a good shot, I'm sure you'll kick their asses."  
  
Bitty paused, Jack's words sinking in, and he grinned. "Thanks, Jack. See you around."  
  
They weren't friends, not really. But Bitty felt something warm blossom in his chest all the same and allowed himself to think, _maybe one day._

* * *

  
  
  
  
Coming out was infinitely easier once Bitty learned that Holster and Ransom had each other's names on their arms. He came out to Shitty first, hands shaking a little until Shitty clapped him on the back and gave him a sunny grin, and then to Ransom and Holster after they bugged him about finding a date for Winter Screw. Telling the three of them more or less guaranteed that the rest of the team knew by the end of the week, and when no one glared at him in the locker room or checked him harder than usual he found himself breathing easier.  
  
That is, until Ransom and Holster continued with their quest to find Bitty a date — and potentially his soulmate.  
  
“Brah, now we know it’s a dude’s name. If you tell us we can help you out!”  
  
They'd cornered him in the Haus kitchen, smiling gleefully at the prospect of setting up their "bittiest bro." Bitty frowned, keeping his eyes on the pie crust he was rolling.  
  
Ransom slung an arm around Bitty's shoulders. “Yeah, Bits, we know everyone . All we’d have to do is type his name into Facebook and we’d find your boy in no time.”  
  
Bitty sighed, his face growing warm with a familiar wave of sadness. “I’d really rather not-”  
  
“Dude, don’t be scared to find him,” Ransom said. “Finding Holtzy was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”  
  
“Aw, bro.”  
  
Shitty shrugged as he sipped at his coffee. Shitty was going stag and had already declared himself "Universal Chaperone and Provider of Alcohol" for the evening. “You might as well just tell ‘em, Bits. They’ll figure it out eventually and they’ll be obnoxious as fuck until they do.”  
  
Bitty sighed. "Seriously, y'all, I don't want a date. Please stop trying."  
  
But when Ransom and Holster were on a roll there wasn't a power in the universe that could get them to shut up. "Bro." Holster took the rolling pin from Bitty's hands and set it aside, forcing Bitty to look up at him. "Bitty, you beautiful spinster, we will find you love."  
  
"Parks  & Rec?" Ransom asked with a grin. Holster beamed at him and nodded.  
  
"I don't want love." _Lie._ "I don't even want to go to Winter Screw." _Another lie._ "I'm happy being single." _Big, fat lie._  
  
"But it's your soulmate," Ransom said. "You don't know true happiness until you've found your other half."  
  
“I-” He desperately wished Shitty would tell the guys to back off. Instead, he felt the traitorous pricking of tears at the corners of his eyes. He felt his hands shake and turned to grab the rolling pin again, if only to have something to hold.  
  
"Bitty?" Shitty had stood up from the table, brows furrowed. "Brah, are you okay?"  
  
Bitty felt a few tears spill over and he knew he'd have to tell them. “I don’t have a soulmate, y’all.”  
  
He was met with stunned silence and three pairs of shocked, sad eyes. “Bro,” Ransom said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Holster looked horrified. “Like...nobody at all?”  
  
Bitty ducked his head, focusing on taking slow, deep breaths. “He died a couple years ago. I never met him.”  
  
“Oh, Bits,” Shitty said. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Bitty shook his head and tossed the rolling pin back on the counter. "I- I need some air."  
  
He knew Ransom and Holster hadn't meant to push him so far, but Bitty had planned on making it at least to the end of the year without having to deal with the pitying looks. Eyes down, fists clenched, Bitty all but ran from the room. He'd made it all the way out the front door when he'd crashed into something warm and solid. Bitty bounced back and nearly lost his balance, stumbling back against the door frame.  
  
"Oh!" Jack looked down at him, a little stunned. "Sorry, Jack," Bitty said, trying to keep his voice steady and cheerful. "Didn't see you there."  
  
"Bittle," Jack said. "You're crying?"  
  
"Oh, it's nothing," Bitty said. "I should get going-"  
  
"Are you okay?" Jack looked uncomfortable, and a voice in Bitty's head — which sounded suspiciously like Shitty — told him that his robot programming couldn't process human emotions. The thought almost made him laugh.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine, I need to go."  
  
Bitty felt a little bad, leaving Jack standing awkwardly on the porch, but he needed to be away from the Haus ASAP. Maybe he'd bake something for Jack tomorrow, to apologize. But the thought of being back in that kitchen made his heart hurt, so Bitty wandered back to his dorm alone.

* * *

  
  
Bitty's Winter Screw date was, frankly, terrible.  
  
The evening had started out okay — Bitty loved any excuse to get dressed up — but by midnight the guy had grabbed Bitty's ass like twenty times, made fun of Bitty's accent at least twice, and puked on his shoes. Bitty had ducked out after that, too drunk to walk back to his dorm, and sat on the curb, scrolling through his Twitter feed half-heartedly. He barely even noticed when someone sat down next to him.  
  
"Bad date?" Jack asked. Bitty nodded, slipping his phone back into his pocket.  
  
"Where's yours?" Bitty asked. "Cam...Camilla, right?"  
  
Jack nodded, smiling a little. "She had to leave early."  
  
Bitty nodded, eyes drifting to the blue band wrapped around Jack's wrist. Sober, he never would have asked, but now — "Is she your...?"  
  
Jack looked at him curiously, then followed his gaze. He shook his head, laughing a little. "No, just a friend. Ransom and Holster set us up."  
  
They both stilled at the mention of the D-men, memories of their encounter on the porch flooding back. Bitty looked down at his poorly-cleaned shoes.  
  
"I didn't ask them what had made you so upset," Jack said after a moment. "But I did hear Shitty say something about soulmates after you left..."  
  
"He died." Bitty hated this conversation, hated it every single time. "I never knew him."  
  
"I'm sorry," Jack said softly. He didn't pry — Jack rarely did — but he angled his body towards Bitty, just a little, looking as if he wanted to say something comforting but didn't know what.  
  
“His name was Jack,” Bitty said, voice rough. He wasn't sure why he was saying this, but he wanted someone to know. “I know it’s silly, but I just...I wish you had a nickname like the rest of us. Hearing his name every day, even if I never knew him…” Bitty surreptitiously wiped at his eyes, sniffling a little. “Which is ridiculous, of course, Jack is such a common name. Even if you were Zimms or Jay-Z or whatever I’d still hear his name all the goddamn time and I just-”  
  
Bitty sobbed, tucking his head against his knees. This was stupid, Jack didn’t need this, Bitty was overreacting like usual and-  
  
And Jack pulled Bitty to his chest, letting him soak the front of his shirt.  
  
"It's not ridiculous," Jack said. "You lost someone important. You're allowed to be upset."  
  
This made Bitty cry harder. "I didn't know him," he whispered. "I shouldn't be sad, I didn't know  him."  
  
Jack pulled back and gave him a curious look. "Isn't that _why_ you're sad?"  
  
And it was. Jack was right, Bitty was just so angry that they'd never even met. What he wouldn't give just for five minutes with his Jack-  
  
"C'mon, Bittle, it's cold out." Jack stood and held out his hand. Bitty let himself get pulled up, though he stumbled a little as his vision spun. "Can't have you freezing to death. I'll walk you back to your dorm."  
  
Bitty smiled up at him. "Thanks, Jack."  
  
Jack returned the smile, though smaller and more tentative. "Someone has to make sure you don't fall in a snowbank and die."  
  
"Morbid." Bitty laughed. "You Canadians are so morbid."  
  
Bitty's first Winter Screw may have been an absolute disaster, but at least he could say the end of the night had been kind of nice.

* * *

  
  
Contrary to popular belief, soulmates weren't always romantic or sexual. Bitty had never really experienced this in small-town Georgia, where soul mates typically got married as soon as they could as settled down next door to ma and pa, but at Samwell the examples were endless.  
  
There were soulmates like Shitty and Lardo — who was the team manager and came back from Kenya in the spring and who was so cool _oh my gosh_ — who were totally platonic.

(“So I bug out for like eighteen years because I'm aro-ace and I don't know how ‘Larissa’ will take it and then the first time I ever meet someone named Larissa she basically says, ‘Hey so I've got your name on my arm and you've got mine but I should just let you know that I'm gay as hell and there is no fucking way that nasty mustache is coming anywhere near my face.’ I just knew it was meant to be."

"Dude, you're so sappy, shut up.")

And then there were soulmates like Ransom and Holster, who were still figuring things out.

(“Like, I've never been really been into dudes but have you seen Rans’ cheekbones? Like damn. I mean, I've been questioning these things since Justin appeared on my arm and I love him more than anything else in the world so I guess it doesn't really matter what we are, just as long as we are, you know?”

“ Bro, that was so deep I'm gonna cry.”)  
  
So maybe it wasn't the end of the world that Bitty didn't have a soulmate. Lardo dated girls all the time, free in the knowledge that her soulmate was platonic. Bitty wasn't restrained by a name on his wrist the way so many other people were — but that was the problem. No one else was looking for long-term commitment. Lardo dated girls who were in open relationships or who hadn't found their soulmates yet. Lardo still had someone to go home to at the end of the day. Bitty was alone in the world, since Jack has died.

* * *

  
  
  
Bitty had never been properly hip-checked and now that he was face-down on the ice, helmet tossed God-knows-where, he was keen not to repeat the experience.  
  
When the nurse checked Bitty's pulse, she noticed the tattoo and gave him a sad, knowing look. He gritted his teeth and focused on not glaring at her.  
  
Bitty only relaxed when Jack came in after the end of the game to say they'd won and to apologize for not having his back. He looked so serious — far too serious considering Bitty had been able to skate off the ice by himself — that Bitty actually laughed in his face.  
  
"It's fine, Jack," Bitty said. "It was bound to happen eventually."  
  
This didn't seem to assuage Jack, but Bitty doubted much would. Then he was surrounded by Ransom and Holster and Shitty and Lardo, going on and on about some scrum where Holster had tried to rip a guy's head off and Jack's sick goal in OT and Bitty smiled and nodded in all the right places and thought, _maybe as long as I have friends like these, everything will turn out okay._  
  
He met Jack's eyes over Lardo's head and Jack smiled.

* * *

  
  
  
There was something different about checking practices Bitty's sophomore year. Maybe it was the fact that he could hear Jack's alarm across the hall in the mornings when they got up at the asscrack of dawn. Maybe it was the fact that he'd only recently been cleared to play again after his concussion. Maybe it was the fact that his scholarship now depended on him being able to take a check.  
  
Or maybe, just maybe, it was because he and Jack Zimmermann were actually friends this year.    
  
Jack seemed quieter this semester, calm but on-edge, like the eye of a hurricane. Sometimes Bitty heard Shitty mention things about  _agents_ and  _negotiations_ and anxiety welled in Bitty's stomach  _for_ Jack. How scary it must've been, to face the future he'd nearly died for so many years ago. 

To his credit, Jack was handling the pressure far better this year than he had when Bitty was a freshman. Not once had he yelled at Bitty at practice, or after practice, or even glared at Bitty for things other than filling the fridge with butter and singing in the shower. Bitty was starting see the  _person_ inside of Jack Zimmermann, the dorky, hopeful man who worked harder than God but couldn't be bothered to listen to music recorded after 1986. 

So when Jack chirped him about tweeting between rounds of slamming Bitty into the boards, Bitty couldn't help but fall for him, just a little. 

It was something he learned a long, long time ago — never fall for a straight boy. 

He never thought he'd have to add a new lesson to the list, however —  never fall in love with a boy named  _Jack_.

It would never be his name that was once on Bitty's wrist, and when he inevitably left or found his soulmate, yet another Jack would be ripped from Bitty's clutches.

That pesky heart of his just wouldn't listen, though. How could he _not_ fall in love with someone like Jack Zimmermann, really?  

 

* * *

  
  
Bitty didn't dream much, but when he did he dreamt of that day. It was his one recurring nightmare, replaying in his head until he woke up gasping:  
  
It was that early summer morning, a smaller, younger Bitty tangled in his off-white sheets, woken by his own sobbing. He didn't know why he was crying, just that his heart hurt so bad and his arm ached and burned. When he looked down, vision blurred with tears, he retched and scrambled to wastebasket by his desk.  
  
Mama hurried in a few minutes later, woken by the noise of her son puking and crying. Bitty had been a sickly child, always coming down with some virus picked up on the playground, but she'd never seen him react to anything so violently. He could still feel the warm circles she rubbed into his back, hear her soft murmurs as she contemplated calling an ambulance.  
  
“M’not sick,” Bitty finally managed and thrust his wrist into his mother’s line of vision, where the tender, pink skin was smooth and blank. Her eyes widened and filled with tears. Bitty threw up again and wondered if, like the old wive’s tale, this meant he would die soon, too.  
  
(Surely that would be better that this kind of heartache.)  
  
Then he'd wake up, shaking, sometimes crying, sometimes screaming. Once, after a particularly vivid night of the dream playing over and over again on a loop, he'd jolted awake and barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up. It was something he'd grown used to, the same nightmare every time, coming back to haunt him whenever he tried to move on.  
  
The dreams began changing, though, after he started Samwell. It was subtle, at first, little things like not being able to tell his mom he wasn't sick or his wrist bleeding where the name had been torn from his skin. But then the events of the dream started changing too — a couple times Bitty found himself in the hospital, the doctors trying to shock him back to life with a defibrillator, and once he did die, slumped over his wastebasket, his soul pulled from his body to join its other half in eternity. That had been his favorite, though he'd never admit it out loud.  
  
Things had gone too far, however, when Jack started appearing in the dreams. At first he was just a shadow, a vague outline of dark hair and large hands, dead on the floor of Bitty's childhood bedroom. But then _Jack_ was taking his place, and Bitty found himself waking up in a cold sweat more and more often, haunted by the sight of Jack Zimmermann sprawled out, cold and still, ice-blue eyes wide and unseeing.  
  
"Stop," Bitty whispered to himself, digging his knuckles against his forehead. "Lord, stop. Why are you doing this?"  
  
It might make him a creep, but on the worst nights Bitty would crawl out onto the roof, where Shitty had left a lawn chair and half a semester's worth of beer cans, and peek into Jack's room, waiting to see the slow rise and fall of his chest. It was stupid and it was an incredible violation of Jack's privacy but Bitty couldn't go back to sleep without checking, just in case.  
  
It was one of those nights. Bitty was crawling across the roof, barefoot and pajama-clad, when Jack's window opened. "Bittle, what are you doing?"  
  
Jack stuck his head out, looking concerned. Bitty blushed. "Um, couldn't sleep."  
  
"Me neither," Jack said, climbing out to join Bitty. "The guy across from the hall from me was screaming pretty loudly."  
  
"Oh, gosh, Jack, I'm so sorry-" Jack cut him off with a wave of his hand. Bitty drew his knees to his chest, grimacing.  
  
"Bitty, it's fine," Jack said. "I mean, not fine- I mean, are you okay? I was just about to come over and knock on your door."  
  
Bitty cast his eyes down. "Just a nightmare." Sometimes when he looked at Jack he could see flashes of the dead Jack from his dreams, pale skin and lightless eyes.  
  
Jack clasped his shoulder, squeezing it a bit. "Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"Not really." Bitty leaned into the touch. "But I think I will. I-" He took a deep breath and rested his chin on his knees. "I dream about the day it happened a lot. It's been getting worse."  
  
Jack's hand shifted to the back of Bitty's neck, thumb rubbing small circles at the nape, brushing against the prickly hairs. Bitty closed his eyes and hummed a little.  
  
"I've started seeing his body," Bitty admitted. "Sometimes it's you."  
  
Jack's hand stilled and Bitty realized he'd said too much. He ducked his head down, cheeks growing warm. Jack sucked in a breath.  
  
"Bitty," he said, voice low and rough. "Bitty, please look at me."  
  
Bitty raised his eyes, lips pressed tightly together. Jack met his eyes and held out his arm. Slowly, carefully, he pulled back the band around his wrist. Bitty gasped.  
  
_Eric._  
  
“I thought it was you,” Jack said, voice cracking. "Before you told me..."  
  
“Jack,” Bitty whispered, lump growing in his throat.  
  
“I want it to be you. But...it wouldn’t be fair,” Jack whispered. “If it’s not you and I meet this other Eric and you have no one and I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you but I just...I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
Bitty pressed his forehead against Jack’s shoulder, willing away the tears in his eyes. “I’d take that risk. A few months being with you, being yours...it would be worth the heartbreak.”  
  
He could feel Jack’s breath against his neck, at the junction of skin behind the shell of his ear. "But if...if I leave..."  
  
"Jack." Bitty pulled away, hands grasping at Jack's shirt. "I'm going to be alone the rest of my life. But a little bit of happiness- just a moment with you would be enough for a hundred lifetimes."  
  
Jack leaned down and kissed him, softly, briefly. "Can I- could I see your tattoo?" His fingers brushed against Bitty's armband. "If that's not weird..."  
  
Bitty pulled back and slipped the band from his wrist, all but shoving his arm into Jack's hands.  
  
Jack’s eyes grew wide as he traced the numbers on Bitty’s arm. Bitty thought it was just pity or sadness or horror that anyone would get the tattoo of a stranger’s date of death, but then Jack was breathing a little faster, shallower and he whispered, “Jack?”  
  
“June 26th, 2009,” Jack breathed out. “Right? That’s what this stands for?”  
  
Bitty nodded, frowning. “Why?”  
  
“That was the day of the draft,” Jack said, voice stilted. “The day I overdosed.”  
  
It hit Bitty like an ocean wave, cold and suffocating, swallowing him whole. “The day...the day your heart stopped. The day you _died_.”  
  
And then he was in Jack’s lap, pulling their mouths together in a hungry frenzy. Bitty raked one hand through Jack’s hair, tugging at it to adjust the angle of the kiss, and slid the other around Jack’s neck and down his spine, clutching at the spot between his shoulder blades. Jack’s hands gripped at Bitty’s waist, bringing their bodies together as close as he could. Bitty could feel the tears on his cheeks — could feel them on Jack’s cheeks too — and he let out a watery laugh.  
  
“I thought you were dead,” Bitty said, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ve thought you were dead since I was fourteen.”  
  
Jack pressed feverish kisses to Bitty’s mouth, his neck, his collarbone. “I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m alive, I’m so sorry, Bitty-”

Bitty collapsed into Jack, feeling every muscle in his body quake with relief and shock and exhaustion. Jack held him up, lips pressed against Bitty's neck, solid, warm,  _alive_. "I'm sorry," Bitty whispered, voice breaking. "I just- you're alive and you're here and I- I mourned you for so long. I  _felt_ you  _die_. Jack.  _Jack_." 

Jack's name still stabbed Bitty in the heart with grief, but now there was something else there, hope and joy and  _love_. Jack was alive. Jack was here, with Bitty. Bitty pulled back, body still shaking uncontrollably, and captured Jack's mouth a soft, slow kiss. "Don't leave me ever again, you hear?" He whispered. "I mean it."

"Never, Bits," Jack murmured. "I'm not going anywhere." 

Bitty laughed, wet and hysterical and overjoyed, and kissed Jack again, and again, and again, like he never thought he would. 

* * *

 

Several years down the line, Bitty walked into a little tattoo shop in Providence. When he left, he had a new row of numbers under the old:  _5-2-15_

The day he found his soulmate. 

The day Jack came back to him. 

**Author's Note:**

> there was a whole bittyparse interlude originally and i think one day i'll write a whole new soulmate au around that 
> 
> it was even ANGSTIER if you can believe it
> 
> on tumblr @ [eve-baird](Http://eve-baird.tumblr.com)


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